


Grief

by Lady_Otori



Category: Naruto
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Kakashi Week 2018, Kakashi just deserves to be happy, KakashiWeek2018, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Otori/pseuds/Lady_Otori
Summary: [He has his own ways of expressing grief.]A drabble exploring Kakashi's rituals for the lost, inspired by the Kakashi Week Day 3 prompt over on Tumblr.





	Grief

He has his own ways of expressing grief. The morning visits to the Monument are the classic, yes, the one he lets slip. The one that defines his sorrow for outside eyes. _Kakashi,_ they say, _Kakashi, he does penance every morning, a trip to the Stone come rain or shine. Isn’t that so sad?_ A model of shinobi heartache for a populace growing used to peace. The bloodless rendition of a ninja’s end.

But it’s not the only link in his melancholic chain. The passerby with their respectful nod sees his grassy feet and faraway gaze and thinks they’ve got him pegged, their mournful Rokudaime with grief as shallow as a daily walk. They might even greet him with a smile just on the wrong side of pity as he goes back to his daily business, and think themselves lucky to be blessed with a leader who deals with life’s misery in a simpler way than most. 

Back in the chair that weighs so heavily on him, the upper crust in the bureaucratic machine might smile at the way he reminds them not to call him Lord of anything, least himself, and forget that Minato much preferred the same thing. It’s a small grief but a poignant one. 

It hurts a little less when he sees Naruto shaping up to feel the same way. They meet at the ramen stand, as always, his student’s own expression of grief turned into a symbol of who he is. It’s impressive. Kakashi orders as much broiled saury as he can get away with. He hates it, but it was always Rin’s favourite meal.

How his friend would have laughed to find that out. Obito, Obito. Kakashi thinks of him more now that Sasuke has returned. He lets the bickering sun and moon walk in front of him, belly full as he listens to their threatening, layered now with the implicit understanding that they could and would end one another if they so chose. Sasuke hits Naruto with a remark straight out of Obito’s vocabulary and Sakura has to grab onto Kakashi’s arm to keep him moving. There’s something about the Uchiha accent that perfects the art of the insult, and Kakashi rubs the back of his head, sheepish. He’s adopted Obito’s gestures instead. 

“I hope you’re not thinking about skiving again, sensei!” Sakura chides and he seriously does contemplate it before she hits him with her famous look. Hayate used to call it the ultimate technique, the unbearable cuteness of being. Sakura uses it liberally on Naruto, sparingly on the rest of them, and never on Sasuke at all. Kakashi likes to give in precisely one time in three in honour of his old-before-his-time friend. So he doesn’t skive. Not today, at least: he finishes his work in good time, plotting the route home to pass by this or that grand old Konoha tree. Aside from his general melancholic nature the people of the city remark on his fondness for trees and their ability to provide a makeshift chair while he reads Jiraiya’s old books. It’s pain mixed with comfort, yes, as he remembers the way his father and Jiraiya used to point out the best old oaks for such pleasures on the road home. 

It’s his father’s favourite that catches his eye in the evening, a sturdy old creature Kakashi draws the line at reading porn in for the sole reason that it’s just inside the Temple grounds. There’s inappropriate and there’s inappropriate, so Asuma used to say. It’s a line he tries to live by these days, so he leaves the big old oak alone with a nod of his head.

His house is the same as ever, dark and quiet now that the housekeeper’s gone for the day, neatly wrapped meal on the table with a note written in an ancient shaky hand. His mother’s mother’s cousin, Kakashi thinks she is; it’s been a while since anyone tried to puzzle out the tangle of families snarled in the first Shinobi war. She calls him nephew anyway. And on the days when he doesn’t wear his mask, she’ll cry and call him by his long-forgotten mother’s name. He pretends not to notice. It’s not his grief this time. 

The day’s end. The redness of sunset, the time where he’ll look in the mirror and think about the red eye that stared back at him. That used to. Tsunade asked him once if he missed it, but it was there in his day, there in the way he’d slide his headband down in tribute to the partner of his youth. No, he didn’t grieve for a loan long since collected. Just that when he fed Itachi’s crows in the last of the sun’s rays, he always gave the red eyed ones the most. 

When the morning comes, the cycle repeats: endless, shifted to accommodate the years of loss, adapting to the people who have come and love and leave behind. And when his former students tease his strange habits and Kakashi shares a look with Tenzou over their cups, he smiles. Yes, he has his own ways of expressing grief. But he hopes he’ll never have to change it.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want best boy to be happy but I'm apparently a monster.


End file.
